Shorty and to the Foot

So let’s imagine that I am in the supermarket on a Saturday, pushing a cart down the aisles of my expat experience here in BA, when a nearly-unintelligible announcement cuts in and out over the loud speaker. (This is a scenario almost identical to the beat-down pick-up trucks that cruise through the neighborhood on Sunday morning, blasting through the silence with a megaphone their offers to sharpen your knives or buy your refrigerators — it took me about 8 years to figure out what was going on and not duck for cover). Eventually, after squinting intensely which I somehow think will augment my hearing, I understand they are giving away a dozen miga sandwiches sweating condensation in a plastic container if I can choose one beloved Argentine phrase above all others that best encompasses my experience in these thirteen years.

Slang here is literally a language of its own, and I slow down to take in the scope of this decision. First of all, the parameters are key. Is the most important criteria my appreciation of the phrase, or is it how well it applies to what i’ve lived, or is it the sheer volume, the number of times I’ve said that phrase like i put on my favorite hoodie? I stop at the make-your-own-salad bar and deliberate over which of these i will scoop into my take-out container (oh wait, i’ve suddenly found myself in the US — those salad bars don’t exist in supermarkets here). The choices only further decelerate my rally-cart race through memory lane, and suddenly I get bumped by the person walking (too closely - different concept of personal space) behind me and am told harshly que vaya a la concha de la lora (go to the “shell” of the parrot — a place i’d say is comfortably a few stops past hell on the downtown local train).

I will stand still for a moment to hold the spotlight on the cleverness that is truly the miga of Argentine slang — it is always there no matter what you add to the sandwich, whether its double-meanings or cultural references. In this case, the translation of concha as shell (thank you @theargentiniandictionary on IG) uses the marine definition of “concha” as a PG-rated substitute for the female reproductive system. For those confused on how a parrot’s genitalia could be confused with a seashell, look at some art. But also, it is said that parrot (la lora) used to be slang for prostitute, and the phrase was first spat out by an irritated wife suggesting her husband find a by-the-hour alternative). I digress.

I park the cart for a moment near the cash registers and the oversized (or proportionally relevant) mouthwash display to regroup and make way for the passerby rushing past my parrot’s shell to stockpile beige food and frozen blandness. There are a dozen miga-delights in the balance. I am notoriously bad at making decisions. I don’t know how to choose, because I want it all (minus anything made with white flour, which is almost everything), so I generally make a lot of lists. But I have been told recently my lists are actually exacerbating my problem, because “choosing is losing,” inherently — in essence, you have to choose what you want to lose more than what you want to win. This makes me even more nervous, because I already lose a lot. So today I revert back instead to my more impulsive (and historically unsuccessful) approach of browsing uncommitted, aisle by aisle, waiting to be “inspired.” (The reason why it’s taken me 12 1/2 years to start this blog).

Aisles 1 and 2 (successful businesses, competence, and reliable employment) can be skipped entirely, because frankly my commercial glory duró menos que un pedo en una canasta (lasted less than a fart in a basket). Aisle 3 (hot foods, corruption, robberies, fraud) has been a steady go-to, and I stop and consider the numerous pre-packaged shit-sandwiches i’ve taken home for dinner. The time I bought a truck on the internet that I never received, or the times that the cashbox, and then my computer, and then all of the dishware and power tools were stolen from my bed & breakfast, or that time after I became a private investigator that I had a run in with the gypsy mafia. I have spent a lot of time en el horno (in the oven, literally — i.e. in a complicated situation with no real solution), reheating my faulty judgment and washing it down with a nice crisp bucket of Patagonian Sauvignon Blanc.

Each of these events individually, and certainly altogether have brought me to a certain rhythmic combination of inhaling carbon-dioxide and exhaling the phrase remando en dulce de leche (rowing in milk jam) at the same time, something I learned to do in Ireland. It kind of sounds like i’m having an asthma attack and words come beaten out me in punches.

To be fair though,

and then exhale estás meada por un elefante (you’ve been urinated on by on elephant). It is true

In all of these situations, I regret that I was too slow to be able use the phrase a papá mono con banana verde? (to daddy monkey with a green banana? — like saying “really?” and winking at the people you realize are trying to fool you. I’ve got your number, capo). As I push the cart onwards slowly, I tell myself that I know better now, grabbing a can of cocodrilo que duerme es cartera (the crocodile who sleeps becomes a handbag) and hiding it in my purse. If you snooze, you lose. Especially with such high inflation. An apt admonition, high in caloric content and protein, good for immediate bursts of energy. Where have you been all this time, crocodile?

Passing the produce section at the back, I squeeze a few chupate esa mandarina (suck yourself that mandarine — a more citric version of “take that”) but they aren’t ripe yet . Shying away from the avocados (one kilo of avocados costs more than I make in a week), I make my way towards Aisle 5 (arrogance, incompetence, vacuum-packed common sense) where I come across one of my favorite phrases, cabeza de termo (hot water-heater head). It is something that while, it could fairly be applied, as a wise friend here says, to 85% (or more) of the people one comes across (perhaps an international phenomenon), I have only used once — like the pickled capers I bought three years ago. So I smile and put it on my (ill-advised) list for future run-ins with idiots, and move on.

estar hecha percha (made into a hanger)

I keep moving and pause on Aisle 7 (obstacles, adversities, shit luck).

Lo atamos con alambre

I pick up and weigh remando en dulce de leche (rowing in caramel sauce) in one hand and estás meada por un elefante (you’ve been urinated on by on elephant) with acknowlegement that both have been true (extensively) and could

But when I see the classic of Es lo que hay (pronounced es lo kay ay), staring at me from its illustrious end cap of Aisle 8 (resignation, consolation, beer) I know that the decision has been made. It is an extremely common phrase here in Migaland. It means loosely “you’re fucked.” Just kidding. But only kind of. At least in my case, it fits like ham on cheese. It means “this is what there is” — these are the cards that have been dealt, do the best you can. Now, you can take that any way you like, but you wouldn’t be off-base if you grimaced while you picked up that hand and ordered six shots of whiskey, or set fire to it in a street-side garbage can, coincidentally next to a government office.

PS. Post written to this song on repeat. The lyrics are not relevant per se but it all kept the flow going.

PPS. Much credit is due to @theargentiniandictionary for their firm commitment to slicing and serving the double-meanings and clever dressing of porteño slang.

PPPS. Compratodo camioneta art credit goes to capuchalapucha, found along with my old mattress on reddit

PPPPS. Shorty and to the foot is the literal transation of “Cortito y al pie” which refers to an idea that is concise and easy to understand (cuts to the quick of it).